


Sleeping Dogs

by Just_Another_Zombie



Series: Late Nights or Early Mornings? [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Monster of the Week, Stiles does not like being woken up, Stiles has a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:18:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5719069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Zombie/pseuds/Just_Another_Zombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an all-nighter spent researching the monster of the week, Stiles does not appreciate being woken up.<br/>___</p><p>Lightly based on the video of Dylan O'Brien sleeping (and his unhappiness at being woken up)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Dogs

“Get the fuck out of my room Scott!”

The werewolf was barely able to dodge whatever it was flying towards his head, werewolf reflexes kicking in and allowing him to catch the projectile, discovering it to be a book, one of the many that were scattered across Stiles’s bedroom. Smiling at the familiar actions of his best friend, Scott slipped through the doorway into the bedroom, closing the door behind him in an attempt to muffle the oncoming noise.

“You gotta get up Stiles.” Scott reasons, walking over to place the book onto the cluttered desk in the corner of the room. “The pack is downstairs, waiting for you so we can start the meeting.”

“Fuck the pack.” Stiles grumbles, rolling over in bed, cocooning himself tighter in his blanket and burying his head under his pillow. His voice is barely understandable to Scott, despite the enhanced senses. “I was up until 3am researching the thing you caught that was creeping around the woods, the pack can wait for me to catch up on my sleep.”

Scott chuckled as he heard the protests from the group of wolves downstairs, who were apparently listening intently enough to the conversation that they had picked up on Stiles’s quiet complaint.

“I don’t think the others like that idea.”

“Well forget them. I wasn’t asking for permission.”

Even through the obstruction of the pillow, it was easy to tell that Stiles was growing even more irritated, his scent changing from the almost soft scent of sleep to the sharper spike of anger. Scott walked over to his best friend, sitting on the edge of the mattress, taking care not to jostle the prone form too much.

“Did you figure out what it is?” Scott asked, referring to the creature the collection of teenagers had found lurking through the Beacon Hills preserve the night before.

They had stumbled upon it on accident, coming across the sickly scent while on a run to relieve any leftover energy from the full moon the night before. After tracking the unknown creature, they had come across the small figure at a rocky outcrop atop a small ridge. At first, the wolves had thought it to be a leprechaun, as it had the main characteristics of the Irish myth. It was small in stature, and wore what looked to be clothes more suited to medieval times. However, the small red hat that sat on its head, and the smell of aging blood that clung to the creature had them doubtful, and alert. Good thing too, as the second the being had spotted the circling wolves, it had leapt at the closest target, Erica, who gave a pained howl as the tang of fresh blood filled the air. The other teens hurried to help her, fighting to keep the elvish looking creature from digging its sharp talon like claws into soft flesh.

It had been a short, yet no less vicious battle, but eventually whatever it was had been caught in the combined hold of three different ‘wolves, although its fight for freedom had them struggling to keep hold. In the end, they had been forced to keep the unknown creature at Deaton’s veterinary clinic. Luckily, the Druid was out of town on business, and Scott had been left to watch the clinic until he returned. Once the thing had been secured in the basement, in one of the cages commonly used for the more vicious animals, the wolves had called it a night, and Stiles was assigned the task of discovering what exactly, it was.

 

“Of course I figured it out.” Stiles sounded mildly insulted. “It’s a Redcap. Irish, like a Leprechaun, but instead of granting wishes and leaving pots of gold at the end of rainbows, it’s squashing people under boulders and tearing them apart. The hat it’s wearing is made of human skin and died in blood”

Scott shudders at the information, remembering the overpowering metallic smell that had clung to the Redcap. He can hear the exclamations of disgust and repulsion from the others downstairs. “Well that explains the scent” he acknowledges. “How do we kill it?”

“We don’t need to.” Stiles says, continuing on with an explanation even as Scott begins to make noise of protest. “As long as it stays in its cage and can’t kill anyone today, it should be dead in hours. If it can’t keep its cap wet with fresh blood, the hat dries up and the thing dies.”

There is a resounding sigh of relief from all the ‘wolves in the Stilinski house, the tension that had been filling the house disappearing in an instant. Scott gave a pleased nod, patting the covered ankle beside him in thanks, before standing.

“Well, we should keep some people at the clinic to guard the redcap until it dies.” Scott directs this mainly at his pack.

“That sounds like a job more suited for Werewolves.” Stiles states, kicking his leg slightly to adjust his blanket into a more favorable position. “There’s nothing to do now but wait, and since you don’t need a human guarding the thing, this human is going the fuck back to sleep”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get up?” Scott needled his friend, chuckling when Stiles’s head shot up, causing the pillow to fall to the ground, and he turned to glare venomously at the werewolf. Scott smirked at the expression, wiggling his eyebrows for the sole purpose of winding up the tired boy. Stiles bared his teeth at Scott, which would have been a lot more intimidating if he wasn’t curled up in bed and sporting the messiest bed-head known to man. Letting out a small growl that caught the ears of the True Alpha, the boy heaved himself to the edge of the bed, reaching down. When Scott noticed that Stiles was aiming, not for his displaced pillow as Scott originally thought, but for the wooden baseball bat Stiles kept for protection, the werewolf took that as a sign that his welcome was well worn out.

Scott escaped out of the door, barley closing it before there was a loud _bang_ as the bat collided with the barrier before clattering to the ground in an explosion of noise. When the last echo of noise has finally dissipated, the house is left in silence, the werewolves downstairs in the living room left stunned at what they heard. Scott just leaned against the door, shaking his head with a fond smile. He had long since learned that Stiles was not a graceful riser. The mornings after sleepovers were spent with Stiles in a state of detachment, not quite awake and functional. As the years past and the stresses of middle school, and later high school, were piled onto their shoulders, the struggle of waking Stiles up had grown. The only saving grace was the introduction to coffee, without which Scott was certain Stiles would not have survived school.

When the muted sound of snoring drifted through the wooden door, Scott smiled to himself, before making his way downstairs to rejoin the others. If anyone else had an issue with Stiles’s sleep-in, they were welcome to do something about it. Scott knew better.

Maybe now, the pack would listen to Scott when he told them to let sleeping dogs lie.

 


End file.
